


soft speak with a mean streak

by antoineroussel



Series: cigarette daydreams [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Future Polyamory, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, adam: pat's self-conscious right hand man/childhood love, brad: new boyfriend who is down for anything tbh, pat: young mob boss with big shoes to fill, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antoineroussel/pseuds/antoineroussel
Summary: “Oh, there you are,” he says simply, closing his laptop and giving Adam his full attention.He looks down at his feet. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”





	soft speak with a mean streak

**Author's Note:**

> i love adam mcquaid bye
> 
> (real notes at the end)

Patrice texts Adam to come to his office when he’s back home and has the time. It isn’t urgent, he says. He means it, but Adam still puts down everything and comes over immediately. He can’t stop thinking about the  _ back home  _ and has to sit in the driveway for a moment, face burning, before going in with his spare key. 

Patrice’s house isn’t really his home. He’s sure it was an expression, but can’t help hoping it wasn’t.

The foyer is dark and quiet. Adam scolds himself for hesitating so much and walks toward the wash of light from under the office door, not bothering to knock before coming in. When Patrice told him he didn’t need to knock, he was reluctant to agree- the office was a sort of sacred place to him- until Patrice gave him a devastating smile, saying he would trust Adam with anything. His breath catches on that memory, and it takes Patrice a moment to stop his work and notice him standing there like a fucking idiot.

“Oh, there you are,” he says simply, closing his laptop and giving Adam his full attention. 

He looks down at his feet. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need, I actually expected you would have a longer drive,” Patrice stands up and studies him. “I was just doing some research on that company Z was talking about, seemed worthwhile. Turns out there’s nothing there for us we don’t already have, yeah?” Adam nods, and they exchange stupidly smug looks, because what they’ve done for corporations and themselves is truly something to be proud of, regardless of questionable means. Patrice’s expression softens to a more well-meaning smile. “How are you doing, Quaider?”

Adam preens a little bit, and immediately after wonders how he got so fucking easy for his best friend and boss all in one go. “You just saw me earlier today, Pat,” he says. He stayed the night to go over some contracts with him and Krej, and left at about noon to go check the status of some shipments at the harbor. Now it’s eight in the evening.

“I know,” he replies gently, getting so quiet that Adam can hear the air conditioner running. “How are you doing? Tell me about those shipments; anything interesting happen?” His hand wraps around Adam’s arm, thumbing over the inner side of his elbow.

He’s always overwhelmed by how much attention Patrice pays him, and this is no exception. He flushes, probably noticeable, and prays that he’ll be able to control himself well enough that Pat won’t hate him. “Uh, most of our fabric guys were in the Charlestown zone, and they wanted to use sewing shops under our protection for their work. I told them I’d see what I could do, but I don’t know if we have any stores like that. Might have to buy one out. They’d offer a lot more money with a closer location, and I think it’s worth it.”

“That’s what we’ll do then. I’ll get Torey on it tomorrow morning,” Patrice tells him, and he notices that he’s slowly being lead closer to the desk as they talk. “Why don’t you sit down? Putting strain on your leg isn’t going to help you recover,” It’s a fairly benign request, but the only chair is Patrice’s, and Adam  _ can’t.  _ For so many reasons. It seems like a strange aversion, but he’s sure if he asked any of the guys if they would sit in the leather chair behind that desk, they’d be as perturbed as he is. It’s representative of something he hasn’t earned. Patrice continues as he flounders for a response. “I’ve been sitting all day, standing for a moment won’t kill me,” he assures. That isn’t really the problem, but Adam is in no position to argue.

“I’m fine,” he says, even as he sinks into the chair. His knee does ache a little, nothing worse than a sprain, but the relief is immediate. His brain is telling him this is fundamentally wrong; he’s supposed to wait on Patrice, he’s the one who stands, this isn’t his home-

Patrice leans over him, one hand draped over the armrest. He’s still smiling. In one smooth motion, he’s on his knees in front of Adam like it’s nothing. The noise that comes out of Adam’s mouth at this is nothing short of shameful. He averts his gaze to a pen on Patrice’s desk.

A hand comes down on his thigh. “Listen, Quaider,” Patrice says, almost grave, and he is listening. It isn’t like he’s opposed to this, necessarily. It’s just- this is never how he imagined it. Patrice is higher on the chain than him, always, and it made sense to want to serve him. “Adam,” He reluctantly turns his eyes to Patrice at his name, not confident that he won’t say something stupid. “Look at me. I need you to understand something,” Adam nods jerkily, and this suddenly sounds more like a scolding than anything else. “You tell me no, and nothing changes. I won’t do anything if that’s what you want, and I won’t be upset. I just want to do whatever makes you happy.”

He nods again, and then something crosses his mind, surprisingly for the first time in a while. There’s a reason besides crushing self-doubt that he never said anything about his feelings; Marchy. He’s new (well, comparatively), isn’t involved with the mob, but all of the guys love him. Patrice has never said what they are, but he’s seen them kiss, seen Marchy at the house with clothes that aren’t his. That was enough to give Adam a reason not to tell him. Now he thinks mentioning Marchy will ruin it, Patrice will remember that there are better people who deserve him more than Adam does. But his heart sinks at the thought of being an illicit secret, especially one kept from Marchy, who hasn’t done anything to him, directly. “What about, um, Brad?” he asks, quiet. Patrice’s eyes get real big, and Adam sees his best friend remember there’s someone easier to love than him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to say anything about him, Brad’s been needling me to do this for weeks,” And Adam is already starting to get up, so it takes him a moment to register the words. Patrice takes his hands away to give him room, not even questioning why he was going to get up in the first place. It doesn’t matter. He sits back down in his boss’ leather chair while aforementioned boss is kneeling in a suit on the hardwood floor of his own office. He wants to ask so many things, but stays quiet. Patrice taps his jaw to get his attention. “Do you want this, knowing that I want it and that Brad is okay?” He nods. “Tell me.”

“I want it. Whatever you’ll give me,” he says, sheepish. Patrice beams at him and strains up to kiss him so gently he sort of wants to cry. 

They pull apart for just a moment. Patrice looks so thrilled, this can’t be a mistake. “Let me take care of you, alright?” He moves down, leaning further in, and noses at the buttons on Adam’s slacks as he undoes them. He presses open-mouthed kisses to the head of his dick through his boxers until a wet patch forms. “Baby,” he murmurs into the fabric, and Adam shudders. He’s never felt so small. By the time Patrice has his boxers down, he’s straining not to rock up. Patrice pets his hip and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Take whatever you need,” he whispers. “You deserve it.”

Adam looks toward the ceiling and gulps hard, tries to believe that. He nods.

Patrice noses at the base of his cock, almost affectionate, and only looks at him once before swallowing him down without a hitch. The ensuing whimper sounds more like a muffled scream. Patrice pulls off immediately, much to Adam’s distress, and pats his jaw. “Open,” he says, voice still steady and confident. Adam has no choice but to listen, and Patrice hooks two fingers in his mouth, pressing down gently on his tongue. “Relax for me, okay? You can put your hands on me, if you want; just enjoy this.”

He sinks down again, easing his fingers out of Adam’s mouth. As much as he wants to overthink this, Patrice is making it real fucking hard, and that might just be the point. He just doesn’t want to embarrass himself, and he should be more in control than this- should at least  _ want  _ to be more in control- but he isn’t. He doesn’t. Patrice rucks his shirt up and tongues right under the head until he shakes. It feels like something falling into place. It’s right in a way that nothing else ever could be. Patrice strokes him steadily, bites at his hipbone and murmurs “I got you, I got you,” as Adam sobs. 

“Fuck,” he says, voice wavering. “ _ Pat, _ ” He wants to beg, or tell him he’s loved him forever. Adam gets a wet kiss for his troubles, and he can feel Patrice grinning against his lips when he comes over his own stomach. He sinks further into the chair, trembling with the force of it. Patrice licks him clean.

“Good?” he asks, and Adam at least has the mind to nod. He tucks Adam’s dick back in his boxers with a little kiss. It’s both hot and mortifying. His knees buckle almost immediately upon trying to stand, but Patrice helps him up, pulling him into a tight hug once he’s steady. “Can you make it up the stairs? I’d like you to stay, if you don’t have anywhere else to be,” he mutters into Adam’s shoulder. As if he would leave for anything. Patrice has asked him to stay over so many times, but this feels different.

The stairs aren’t the challenge he anticipated, but it’s still nice to fall into Patrice’s bed and get help undressing when he’s mostly already dead to the world.

“How is Brad alright with this?” he blurts out suddenly, when Patrice is pulling off his slacks.

He pauses in his ministrations and continues a moment later. “Brad knows that my first priority has always been you,” he says. “He knows that I love him, but that you’ve been the love of my life for a while. And he’s alright with that. He knows what he’s getting into,” Adam’s mouth goes dry, and Patrice undresses similarly, pressing up behind him when he’s done. He has no idea what he could say that would accurately describe what he’s feeling at the moment. He’s dizzy. “Speaking of Brad, he’ll probably be here around noon, and you can leave or stay to see him, whatever you want. I know he wants to see you.”

“He wants to see me?” Adam settles into the position, trying to keep the shock out of his voice.

Patrice nods, reaches for his hand under the blankets and kisses the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably to gossip about embarrassing things I’ve said,” he laughs, curling around Adam as much as he can with their difference in height. “You’re so big,” Patrice notes, stroking down his spine, and he shudders. “But you go down so easy,” He says it reverently, almost in wonder. 

In the morning, Adam will probably cry. Now he’s too tired and content to do much else but let Patrice hold him, and fall asleep. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this verse is a fuckin rabbit hole so expect nothing to make sense ever
> 
> this fic is sort of?? a vignette i guess
> 
> just... i'll talk about it more on my tumblr @ antoineroussel.tumblr.com  
> if u wanna come and yell at me about it  
> please do


End file.
